


keep me honest (can't you see i love you?)

by bladeCleaner



Category: Gossip Girl
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-27 21:57:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1723829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bladeCleaner/pseuds/bladeCleaner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story where she fell first and fell hard, and Dan has absolutely no idea. </p><p>Goes AU around 4x17.</p>
            </blockquote>





	keep me honest (can't you see i love you?)

Electrocuted by humiliation. That’s what they’ll put on Blair Waldorf’s grave. She’ll insist on the prettiest, most regal coffin money can buy, but that will be engraved in her diamond-encrusted tombstone.

She’s made a mental note down to write it in her will, because she’s never felt so fried to a crisp as she does now staring at an inadequate Humphrey from across the room, cavorting with a blonde in a mediocre suit and honestly hideous tie.

The punch in her gut feels so familiar. Every time she saw chuck glide effortlessly with another piece of trash all glitter and lace on his arm past her-this is an echo. But she feels it even worse now because all she wants to do is grab that girl’s wrist and snap her away from brushing that curl of hair off Dan-Humphrey’s forehead.

How did Blair Waldorf, Queen of the Upper East Side-end up here?

Let’s go all the way to the Once Upon A Time.

_Once upon a time, a beautiful girl accused a Brooklynite of trying to take advantage of her friend on thanksgiving-_

No, no, too far.

_Once upon a time, there were two people in a hallway trying to find-_

Still too far back.

_Once upon a time, a princess wannabe found herself reaching for the pauper she once called her center._

_Ah, just the right way to begin a tragic love story, don’t you think?_

_Not all stories are happy fairy tales, B._

You know you love me-  
X.O.X.O.  
Gossip Girl

—

In fact it’s him that says it first-it’s almost like he finishes her sentences.

"Dan and Blair, two individual entities."

"Two proper nouns separated by a conjunction, or a comma in a list. Which is rare, seeing as we hardly are similar."

"My sentiments exactly!" She says primly. Her eyes bright.

She’s always thought of Dan as dumb and sad, but these past few months have been an-  
Education.

She won’t say it to herself. Not even now. But the moment-that moment on valentine’s day; of watching Rosemary’s baby together and laughing?

The thread had begun to unravel…

"I’ve found my center, that’s all."

…

"We are so not done here."

And he’d said to her, _but we are_. She’d nearly cried when she’d walked away.

She clenches her fist when it hits her again.

"The kind of opposites who do not attract."

She tilts her head to the side and simply goes, “No.”

"It’s been nice not being friends with you."

He smiles. She shoves her hands behind her back and they’re suspiciously a little…clammy? Maybe she-she should ask Dorota to look at that. Could be a condition.

"We should not do it again sometime."

This feels like the bittersweet ending to a movie. Fade to black, play a sad song, let the credits roll.

So why does she feel like crying, now that it’s over?

—

She tosses and turns that night as if in a coma. Weird dreams that splice together Chuck and Dan churn in her head like butter and the next morning she takes to her bed.

"Dorota, why did I ever make friends with a Brooklynite?"

"Miss Blair?"

"Nothing. Get me the latest Teen Vogue, please. I need something to distract me from the maelstrom of my life."

—

Louis comes back. She spots Dan with Serena at the Pink Party right after she turns Louis and Chuck both down. Needless to say there are a lot of pink martinis involved. She nearly stumbles on her way to the elevator.

Dan’s there, Serena out of sight.

"Humphrey. Where’s your unfortunate stalker victim?" She snaps, slurring a little.

He does that little double take and says, “Well, Serena had to take off. And we’re just-“

"Friends. Yeah, we get it, Humphrey. All hugs and flirting? Strictly platonic."

The elevator doors open. He follows her inside and wow is this a bad idea.

"I know you can’t stand the idea of me and Serena together, but that doesn’t explain why you smell like a night club after hours."

"It’s nothing. It’s nothing! I just needed…some social lubricant. That’s all."

"One, that’s ridiculous, you’re one of the most brazen people I know. Two, is this Chuck? Did he do something to upset you?"

"Aside from being the same old philandering asshole he always was, no. There was no dramatic showdown on rooftops or despicable actions performed. I just told him no, for what felt like the millionth time."

He’s silent for a while then opens his mouth.

"Nope! Zip!" She makes a closing motion with her fingers. "Don’t say it. Do not say _you_ , Humphrey, are sorry for me, because this night has sunk enough without your pity, thank you very much."

"I was just going to ask if you wanted to come over and watch…well, I was going to say Wuthering Heights, but I think I’ll opt for The Philadelphia Story.”

He only remembered because she’s his good friend. Not friend. Something.

"I thought we weren’t not friends."

"I could try and diagram the many things wrong with that sentence, but you got about the same grades as I did for English so I’m assuming you already know them. We…aren’t. We’re simply movie acquaintances. This is professional leisure at its friendliest. I will even refrain from offering you my comforter, if that makes you more hostile."

"Your idea of non-hospitality is adequate," she replies. "As long as there’s disinfectant in your Brooklyn hovel, I accept your proposal."

They’re outside the hotel now, walking on the streets. She staggers a little bit and he quickly catches her. Her heart starts beating a mile a minute and it doesn’t stop until they’re at his place.

He doesn’t bother asking if she’s told her mom about it and it’s a sign of how well he knows her. She watches him fumble around on his crappy TV and getting the movie going.

"You know, I always wondered-" Blair mumbles and stops midway through the movie. They’re on the couch. She has her head on his shoulder.

"Blair?”

“Mmn. Nothing. Was just thinking.”

—

She crashes on his bed and the next morning she wakes up next to him.

She nearly jumps out of her skin. She vaguely remembers last night, a movie- her dress is hung properly on his closet door, and she’s wearing his clothes.

Oh my god.

"Humphrey! Humphrey, wake up."

He’s fuzzy static with sleep still smudged on the brain like a bad television when he wakes up at her insistent nudging.

"Alright, alright, I’m up. God, Blair, where’s the fire? Fashion emergency?"

"You clueless clamorer, why am I in your hideous flannel shirt and pants?"

"After we finished watching movies and you stopped making fun of my hair, I offered you some of my clothes so that your dress wouldn’t wrinkle."

"Oh my god." She covers her face with her hand. "I just spent an entire night in Brooklyn. Of my own will, even."

"I’ll be sure to mark it down on my calendar. If you’re done with the theatrics, Blair, maybe we could get some breakfast?"

"I am not a morning after kind of girl, Humphrey! I will take a cab."

"Yeah. Yeah, alright. Sure, Waldorf. Nice to know." He says, dragging his hand down his face. His shirt is half open and she tries very hard not to stare.

She stuffs her dress in a bag and matches out. In his jeans and oversized shirt, it really looks-

Like something happened last night. She almost wishes it had.

He opens his mouth. Why is Blair Waldorf walking out of his apartment wearing his clothes?

She snags a pair of sunglasses on the way out and tucks her hair into her collar. He watches her go, puzzled. Being friends with the Queen Bee is definitely odd.

—

She arrives home in near-disgrace. She tosses aside the shirt and jeans with some contempt, but can’t resist picking up the shirt again.

"Maybe I can work plaid into my wardrobe," she whispers wistfully in bed.

Dorota greets her with a puzzled look.

"Miss Blair, did Mr Chuck do something again."

"No! Dorota, I’m fine. I am perfectly in control. Come! I’m going to go out on a walk. Maybe read collette in the park and some heavy duty shopping later."

—

The days pass without event. She doesn’t call him, text him, even think of him. Not even once.

It’s not before long that she sees him. It twists the knife even further when she sees that he’s reading Collette in Central Park, as well. There’s a strange half-second where they both seem not to recognize each other, as if they’re two strangers gazing at each other for the first time, and then it all comes flooding back.

Then he gives her a sheepish smile. She huffs and then marches over to him, latching her arm on his.

"Humphrey. Are you stalking me?"

He’s a little taken aback at the touch, but doesn’t pull away.

"Wh-what? No. No, of course not. Perish the thought. I just wanted to-you know. The weather seemed nice. Are you really-" he looks around. "You’re not scouting for an exit strategy?"

"Why? We’re friends, aren’t we?"

"Wow. You’ve deigned to be seen with me in broad daylight and in public and calling me your friend? Fess up, Waldorf. What’s the game? Is someone out to ruin you again? I’m down for a scheme, but you’ve got to fill me in…"

"I’m shocked, Humphrey! Appalled! Why can’t I, a friend, see you when I want? This is what normal people do, right?"

"I thought we weren’t friends."

"I changed my mind."

"I thought our families needed us."

"They do. This won’t change anything, Dan. Really. We’re just-platonic. I’m fine. We’re fine." She babbled.

"Alright, did someone slip E into your coffee order this morning?" He said.

She shook her head. “Come on, let’s go to the Met.”

—

Days passed. Chaos broiled, she wasquestioned slightly by Serena, Nate and Chuck who eventually all dismissed it as some bizarre social experiment. She tried casual dating in between fixing problems, but none of it worked.

In the meantime, Dan was sinking further and further into the trap Vanessa had set for him-

Inside.

She’d read it the second Dan had told her he’d written it. Shockingly, Serena was not the love of his life in it. Nor was she depicted as the scheming heinous bitch she thought he thought she was, but-attractive, powerful, a good friend.

 

She paces up and down the balcony that night, her phone off-nearly blasphemy!-and tries hard not to swallow the stars with her incessant gulping. The itch is there, as strong as ever; to scheme, to plot, to destroy and wrangle and weave. Blair Waldorf was built to be a Goddess; she was built to topple Titans, cripple Kronos, render Narcissus useless with a single word or glance. She’s beautiful and reckless and

she destroys things too easily; look at what she did to Lil’ J.

Dan is off-limits. He doesn’t scheme, or plot downfalls, or rock worlds when it doesn’t come to Serena. He’s simple. He’s Brooklyn in all its tainted stupidity and innocence from this world; of tearing away blood and sinew with the jaws of viciousness and connections. Poor boy. Rich girl. It’s almost a joke. She doesn’t want the punchline to be: _and then she screwed it up again, the princess turned out to be an evil witch._

Dan can’t be seduced or tricked or warped. Well, except for Georgina, but she isn’t going to sink down that low. But even then she’s good. Maybe even better than her at her game.

Maybe if she acted more like Serena? Or if she treated him really nicely? Or even let Jenny back into the city? (No.)

\--

When she goes to the book launch party, she finds Nate and Serena furious.

“Is that really what you think of me, Dan? Am I just some hopped-up party girl to you, a muse to be just-used and thrown away?”

“S…”

“It’s bad enough that you did this without even asking us for permission first, Dan, but this is just low. I am just half a person, aren’t I? A blow-up superficial pretty boy! Thanks a lot.”

“Nate, please, I’m sorry-”

Serena towers over him in his seat like a blonde giant. “Oh, you’re not the only one, Dan. I’m sorry I ever met you and let you into my life.”

She whirls around to see Blair, framed like a culprit walking into an ambush by the door.

“Come on, B. I don’t want to be around for this.”

She lingers. “You go ahead first, S. I need to have some words with Humphrey.”

Serena throws up her hands on the way out, Nate in quick succession, muttering something about a drink. “Maybe you can knock some sense into him.”

The room clears out quickly. Blair feels her heart weighing down in her collarbone, her fingers fluttering to the lace collar of her dress.

“If you’re going to yell at me too, please get it over with now,” Dan says, his face covered behind his hands.

“I’m not going to yell at you, Humphrey.”

“Really? _The_ Blair Waldorf holding back on a poor Brooklynite? I thought you liked to kick dogs when they’re down.”

“Cool the self-pity act, Labrador. Morose was never a good color on you, and it isn’t now. I’m here to support you. Though I’d like to add that you shouldn’t have portrayed all of my best friends so badly."

“I didn’t mean for it to come out like this, I swear.”

“Then what did you think would happen? Serena…you’ve always treated Serena like she’s your princess, your diamond, your shining star. You loved her unconditionally. You were there for Nate when he didn’t have a home. And now you reveal that you think they’re all petty and arrogant? I mean, come on, Humphrey, I would have understood being derogatory about me and Chuck, but those two? They trust you.” She gives a tilt of the neck, exasperated. “Trusted. You. Which is more than what I’ve done for you.”

“…So-wait-you’re not mad at me?”

“Why would I be mad at you? I was half-expecting you to call me the spawn of Satan and I’d be crucified halfway through!”

“I mean, there are some parts that aren’t too flattering.”

“Please. I’m much worse in real life. I’m surprised you toned me down for the general public.” She tosses her hair. “Would have made your book much more scandalous.

He gives a half-hearted smile. “I did include what you said to Georgina the first time you met her.”

She grins like a thousand-watt bulb. “Haven’t you heard? I’m the only crazy bitch around here.”

He chuckles in his throat. Her breath constricts.

They stay silent for a while and he shakes his head. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

She looks at him, his messy hair visible as he puts his head into his hands.

She offers her hand to him.

“Well, Humphrey. You’re not escort material, but seeing as you pulled off a bestseller, I’ll have to make an exception.”

He looks at her for a long time. Then he takes her hand. She pulls him up and intertwines their arms. She sniffs at his coat. “Did you clean this in Brooklyn?”

“I don’t see how that makes a difference, Blair.” He says, smirking.

“Ugh! You’re paying for my dry-cleaning, Humphrey.”

“Of course.”

“Dan? You ready?”

Blair gives him a winning smile. The one pulling around his lips is almost instinct.

“Absolutely.”

_Spotted: Queen B the only one at Lonely Boy’s side on his fast track to fame. Is the world ready for a Waldorf-Humphrey friendship? Hope you’re keeping close tabs on your best friend and ex-boy toy, S, because something tells me this isn’t just Upper East Side charity._

\--

“Blair, I can’t believe you supported that farce.”

“S, I’m sorry. I did talk to him. I told him I didn’t approve of the way you guys were written! But Da-Humphrey’s published now. We’re friends. Friends are there for each other, remember?"

“Friends don’t backstab each other, B.”

“I didn’t backstab you! I just took a neutral stance. Isn’t that what you’re always saying? Play nice with the disenfranchised? Don’t plot their downfalls?”

“I didn’t say cozy up to Dan either! B, what’s going on? You used to hate Dan and now, all of a sudden, you’re friends? Do you…do you like Dan?”

“No. Of course not. I would never, ever do that to you. Besides, he’s…Humdrum Humphrey and lives in a stupid apartment up in Brooklyn and he’s kissed Vanessa Abrams AND Georgina Sparks. Why would I like someone like that?”

“Because he was mine, Blair. It’s not like this is anything new. You tried to scare him off the first time we dated!”

Blair’s eyes narrow. She steps in close. “Excuse me? This is nothing to do with you! Dan and I have a real connection. We do things like visit the Dia and debate Cahbrol versus Romer. Things that we could never do with you.”

“So you do like him."

“No! This is all purely platonic. Intellectual friends. That is all we are. Really, S. Trust me.”

Serena holds her gaze for a bit longer. Blair Waldorf doesn’t squirm. Compared to Chuck Bass, a Van der Woodsen truth-seeking glare is like comparing something off the rack to a Bergdorf’s.

She finally exhales. “Okay, B. I trust you.”

Serena wheels around and paces down the corridor. “I’m just so mad, you know? I can’t believe he wrote about all those things without even asking me for permission, or…”

Blair listens all night, but she’s just happy she managed to pull that off on her best friend.

\--

Late at night, she walks into the foyer to see Dan standing there. She clears her throat and nervously tamps down her negligee before saying, “Humphrey? What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk to Serena. Is she awake?”

“No.”

“She’s been missing my calls, ignoring my texts…”

“You really did a number on her, Da-Humphrey. I’d advise you wait till the dust settles. Then crawl back on your knees like you always do when it comes to Serena van der Woodsen.”

“Look, I appreciate that you stayed at the party this evening, but could you…just stop. I’m not Serena’s boy anymore, alright? I wrote this book. I got published.” His arms explode as if he’s being crucified from his sides. “My giant fuck you to high school, alright? I’m my own person now. I’m not the ultimate insider, or, or, Serena van der Woodsen’s charity case, alright? I am Dan Humphrey, published author.”

She draws closer to him. “You always were, you know. Your own person. I never doubted that. Since the first time we ever really talked and you…gave me the courage to be real with my mother. You’ve always been Dan Humphrey. You like watching French documentaries, analyzing noir films and discussing Manet. You have a stupid hairstyle only you like and a Cabbage Patch doll on your shelf. You’re so nice sometimes it’s unbelievable. You’re the guy who would help the girl who’s taunted you for years, without asking for anything back. I know you’ve always been you- but you wanted to be Mr. Van der Woodsen more. That’s the one thing I could never accept.”

He halts. She can smell the alcohol on him.

“You just called me Dan.”

She sighs, sways a little, tries to switch back to being Blair again, instead of this Humphrey-praising waif. “Yes. Occasionally I like to show courtesy to the masses by deigning to use the name their parents so unfortunately gave them. Does your passport say Dan too, or did everyone just cut off Daniel because it sounded too much like a depressed dog-owner?"

“You just called me by my full name. Not Humphrey, or Cabbage Patch, or Labrador. I’m. Wow. Holy crap, what have you done with Blair Waldorf?”

Huffing, she says, “Serena is asleep and you’re making my foyer look untidy. I trust you can see yourself out."

“I think you’re a good person too, Blair. Thank you. I mean. Really. Thank you for saying all that. I…needed to hear that. You’re a good friend.”

Her shoulder nudges up in acknowledgment.

“Saturday morning?”

“If you’re lucky.”

She turns on her heel and marches upstairs, not letting anyone, not even the mirrors, catch her blur of a smile.

\--

There’s a lull. It’s a lull she’s thankful for. They stop watching so many movies together. There’s the occasional meeting at the café. This-this stupid warm feeling, it’s going away. It has to be.

Every time he passes her a cup of warm coffee (and it’s not alright that they’ve memorized each other’s orders), her hands don’t get that electrical zing from brushing his. She’s perfectly fine. She’s always been alright. It’s probably…Brooklyn allergies.

It’s getting infuriating. Her thumb constantly strokes her phone. She gets voicemails, missed calls, messages, tweets, IMs, and none of them are from him.

It’s only when she gets a Gossip Girl blast about him and a girl kissing by Central Park that she finds herself back in her limo, speeding over to Brooklyn like it’s the epicenter of an earthquake, and she has to fish Humphrey out of the ruins.

“Really? Serena’s furious and you’re dating a Brooklynite?” She fumes, not even bothering to knock, simply bursting through the door when Dan opens it with garbage bag in hand. He swerves to the side like a glass door being pushed open. “You are even more heartless than me, Humphrey.”  
  
“From you, I’ll take that as a compliment.” He sighs. “Hello to you too, Blair.”

“What were you thinking?” She’s babbling, and Eric’s sitting in the kitchen, staring slack-jawed and eyebrows cocked.

“Listen, Blair…”

“That’s Waldorf to you, Humphrey.”

“Blair. I’ve talked this over with Serena and she is completely alright with it. My love life? None of your business, even if we are tentative friends. Plus, I’d appreciate it if you could save the theatrics for when we’re alone?”

“Hi, Blair.” Eric chirps awkwardly, raising a hand from the kitchen bar.

“Hello, Eric.” she says, debuffed temporarily.

He holds up his hands. “You know what? I’m going to take out the trash and then have a nice, hot, non-melodramatic shower. Eric, please try talking to her. Maybe you can defuse the bomb better than I can.”

“Oh, I doubt it,” Eric quips as Dan quickly exits the room.

Blair flings a coat over the sofa and sets down her bag on the cleanest chair in the living room. She crosses her arms and legs, fumes over the general disarray, trying to ignore Eric’s stare. He clears his throat.

“You are ass-backwards crushing on Dan Humphrey, aren’t you?”

She splutters. “W-wha-no! God, no. What gave you that idea?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you storming in here, all mad that Dan is dating another girl?”

“Can’t a friend of the opposite sex show concern without mucking it up with, ick, romance?”

“You love romance. You dated Chuck Bass, grand vizier of romance, if we’re going to exclude his other federal crimes of passion.”

She paces up and down the hardwood floors, beige Manolos clacking until Eric says, “Can you take those off? You’re giving me a headache, Blair,” and she does, immaculately placing them in two straight lines.

“This cannot be,” she mutters to herself. “No, I’m just concerned for Serena. That’s it! That’s all.”

She thumbs at her ring finger, almost as if she can feel the ghost of a Harry Winston there. She’s wearing pale pink and white today, a draping fishtail top with designer white jeans cinched by a thin white leather belt with a gold buckle. Spring is making way for summer in New York. It’s not usually her style-she’d fished it out of Serena’s closet on a whim, but now she feels cold, too cold. Eric gets up and sets her down on the couch with his hands, and she doesn’t wince when she sees the scar anymore.

He drapes a blanket over her. She doesn’t comment on how hideous it is, how it’s itchy and how does anyone survive without satin? It’s hand-knitted by a wizened Humphrey grandma, probably, which explains why it’s got that ridiculous Christmas pattern of trees and ornaments on it in disgusting red and green. She bites her lip. Eric doesn’t say much, only swings an arm around her shoulder and says, “Blair, I of all people should know about being scared of what you want.”

“I’m not scared,” she says, but it comes out small.

She surveys the apartment. There’s no television, no sweeping hallway with a chandelier. Only a jukebox, a garage door and their partition a huge shelf of books. Three rooms and a kitchen that doesn’t even have its own entrance. This isn’t a fairytale she’s heard of.

“I don’t know how I got here, E,” she says, soft.

“Same as the rest of us, B,” he says. “Life got you.”


End file.
